Category Archives: I love my friends

It’s My Bag, Baby

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I love my neighbourhood. Today, within a 45 minute span, I did the following: dropped off the kids at school, went to the bank, went to the library where I got a new card to replace the one I’ve had for probably 30 years, bought dog food, put gas in the van, and picked up a bag of groceries. I have to wonder that if the grocery store was less convenient, would I be less laissez-faire about shopping? If I had to drive 20 minutes to get a package of bagels and some corn, would I be more thoughtful about my purchases? Probably. In any case, my quick stop at the grocery store was a bit longer than it would have been, due to a backlog of shoppers at the U-Scan checkout. It was all due to an elderly man with a full cart of groceries, who should have probably just saved himself and others around him much agitation by just going to the regular lineup. Om Shanti. I zipped my purchases through and left while still hearing the “Please wait for an attendant” automated voice over and over, and the man himself bitterly complaining that there WERE no stickers on the potatoes, so how could HE know what the code was? Word. Regular lineup, sir.

But, we must be patient, because one day we will be the elderly people holding up the U-Scan line. One day it will be me, and I will be fumbling in my giant purse that matches my pumps, with my slacks and plastic jewelry, wondering what the code is for KALE because it isn’t ON THERE and WHY is it beeping?

Last night when Jake was writing in his reading log, he exclaimed that it was the last day of April, and to him, April went by really quickly. “Life goes so fast!” he exclaimed, Ferris Bueller-style, and I agreed. Time makes you bolder, etc. At this rate I’m going to be shopping for a giant purse in no time at all.

Speaking of giant purses, my friend Melissa Gaston at Yummy Mummy Club is having a Photo a Day challenge for the month of May, and today’s prompt is “In Your Bag”. Challenge accepted, Melissa! Not only did I take photos of the contents of my (non-giant) purse, I am also going to walk you through it. What could be more fun than snooping in someone’s purse? What’s that you say? Spring cleaning is more fun? Nonsense!

In My Bag

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The whole shebang.

 

The truth is that in the past few years I’ve really whittled down what I carry around; I’m not just talking about when I would pack like a Sherpa for a day at the playground when the boys were little. I mean, up until a few years ago I would have everything from winter gloves – no matter what the season – to snacks and water bottles in my purse, and let’s not even talk about how I had a compulsion to carry around every single “club card” from every store I ever frequented in my wallet, like George Costanza. As you can see, I’ve got the usual things: slimmed down wallet – no more club cards, except for grocery stores – sunglasses, car keys that have “in case of emergency” hair ties twisted around them.

pens

I also have an inordinant amount of writing instruments.

I don’t know exactly why I have a pencil and four pens in my purse. Well, actually, I do. Every time I go to a School Council meeting, I grab my notebook and throw a pen into my bag, never to be removed. Also: two nail files because one is not enough and also I get them free with pedicure. The toothbrush holder in the background holds no toothbrush. It is the perfect little compartment for a tampon. In these days of uncertainty, you never know when you might need one!

Lipsticks

I’m a lip product addict.

Yes, I have nine different lipsticks and glosses in my purse at any given time, but who doesn’t, really? Also hand sanitizer and a dog poop bag. These two are related. I also found a rock that one of the kids gave me for safe keeping from our recent trip to Maui. I should probably do something with that. (Why is your bag so heavy? Rocks.)

makeup

Not only do I have every lip product for every occasion at any given time, but I also have a powder compact, puff, and blotting papers, because while I like having a shiny happy personality, I do not like having a shiny happy face. Well, the upside of shininess is the lack of wrinkles…oh wait. I have those too.

bandaids

Survival Kit

Last, but never least, the “purse sized” package of tissues and a bag of bandaids. We don’t go through a lot of Band Aids in our house; I guess we’re not bloody folk around here. However, I have a plethora of cute, impulse purchased character bandaids. My children are now at the age that they would probably bleed to death rather than use a Spiderman bandaid, but dammit, I still have a full box of them. The solution, as I see it, is to keep them in my bag for playground emergencies as I am the Official Playground Bandaid Mom. Some child is always wiping out and nothing calms a sobbingly hysterical child like a Phineas and Ferb or Angry Birds bandaid for the teensy scrape on their knee. Just yesterday I supplied a Transformers bandaid to a little girl who had burst a blister while playing on the monkey bars; I had sold it as a Scooby Doo one but she was satisfied with Bumblebee.

I should note that my friend Lyn gave me Hello Kitty bandaids a few years ago and I share them with NO ONE. I love them so much, I’m practically TRYING to slice my hand on the grater.

This concludes the tour of my bag. Want to play along? What’s in your bag?

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Speaking of bags, I have a bag of goodies for the winner of the giveaway, Nicole Sandblom. It was hard finding a bag that would fit the 4L of vinegar, but I did it. I kid! I kid! Congrats, Nicole, and thanks for playing, everyone!

39 Clues…about being 39

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Yesterday was my birthday and I turned 39. It’s the start of my last year in my thirties! Some people feel gloomy on their birthdays, but not me. I love birthdays, and also, I don’t want to be dead, which is the alternative to aging. Bring on the age, I say! One step closer to shuffleboard, slacks, plastic jewelry, and sexually harassing young male orderlies in the Home. I also think that birthdays are the day to party, caramba, fiesta, forever, and to also wear tiaras.

tiara

Thanks to my friend Rebecca and her girls for bringing it, tiara-style.

 

With the vantage point of being 39 and one day, I give you my list of 39 random thoughts about being 39.

1) I like the way “39” sounds. Not quite middle-aged, but old enough to OWN these forehead wrinkles.

2) I feel way more healthy and attractive than I did twenty years ago.

3) I’m confident enough to rock a bikini, which I didn’t do twenty years ago.

4) Still, I would like the girls to be more like they were twenty years ago, if I’m being honest. Gravity and age has been hard on my poor deflated rack.

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Ah, youth. Remember drinking before going to the bar? It was all about economics.

 

5) This would be why I’m a Victoria Secret devotee. I need all the engineering I can get.

6) I think I have better style now than I did twenty years ago, but that might be due to the fact that twenty years ago I was wearing high waisted jeans and bodysuits.

Pirate

And puffy pirate shirts.

7) Letting my hair go more than six weeks between colours is disastrous, not only for the inch long grey roots, but because the rest of my hair resembles orange straw.

8) Every morning I check my chin for long black hairs.

9) Despite checking every morning, every once in a while I will notice a one-inch black hair under my chin that wasn’t there the day before.

10) Although the whole world drools over Don Draper, the man I find most attractive on Mad Men is Henry Francis. And also, disturbingly, Jim Cutler.

11) In a similar vein, I find Mike the most attractive man on Breaking Bad.

12) I feel disappointed in a motherly sort of way when I think of Jesse. I do not find him attractive in the least.

13) I recently referred to Chris Evans as a “very nice looking young man”.

14) It’s been 25 years since my first viewing of Say Anything, and I still kind of identify with Diane Court. I AM a show pony, after all.

15) While at the salon on Friday, getting my grey roots and orange straw hair coloured, I read People magazine and realized – not for the first time – that I don’t know any of today’s hot new celebrities. Celebrities featured in People that I did recognize: George Clooney, Jennifer Aniston, and Boo the Pomeranian.

16) I am older than Sally Albright, Mrs. Robinson, and Princess Diana when she died.

17) Of all fictional movie characters, I most identify with Sally Albright, even if I have a few years on her. This is especially true of the way I order food in restaurants. “On the side” is a very big thing for me.

18) My husband took the winter tires off my minivan and put on the fanciest rims you have ever seen on a minivan. My ride has been pimped, as they say. It’s like I’m having a midlife crisis, minivan style.

19) Because of these hot new rims, I feel like I’m going to be the bitchin-est mom at pickup. I already kind of look like this guy when I’ve got the beats going, but with a minivan.

20) Damn. It feels good to be a gangster.

21) My husband says I am the easiest person to buy gifts for, because I’m hysterically excited at just the thought of gifts.

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Presents presents presents!

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PRESENTS!

 

22) This was exemplified by my squealing excitement at the receipt of a dish towel from my children. But then, it was this dish towel, so that’s pretty amazing.

 

pi

Easy as Pi! There’s even a graphic of a double cone. I’m sure there are some reading this who knew me in high school, and so “Conics Goddess” may have some meaning for those readers.

 

23) Last year I received a dehydrator and this year I received a juicer, and I am absolutely thrilled to receive kitchen appliances as gifts.

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But then, I guess I’ve always been excited about receiving kitchen appliances.

24) I am old enough to see not only fashions from my childhood back in style, but also from my teen years. I’m too old to wear them though, so I guess I will leave the bubble skirts and gladiator sandals to the young people.

25) I use terms like “young people”.

26) When I read magazines that have those “Beauty At Any Age” articles, I flip to “In Your 40’s” because the advice for “In Your 30’s” feels a bit irrelevant. I feel like my fertile years are greatly in the past (knock wood).

27) I cannot blame my children anymore if I’m tired.

28) I cannot watch movies that are sad, scary, or violent.

29) I did, however, recently watch Love Story on a plane, and was struck by my teenage resemblance to a young Ali MacGraw. It must be the eyebrows.

 alimacgraw copy

eyebrows2

29) I spend a great deal of effort plucking those eyebrows because these days, they would make me look less like Ali MacGraw and more like Martin Scorsese. See also: chin hair.

30) I can remember the song lyrics to practically every song I’ve ever heard, yet I need to write down “put out garbage” every second Monday.

31) I feel vaguely shocked when I hear of people going out at nine pm, even though I know I once did that too.

32) To me, a perfect evening sounds like watching Downton Abbey in my pajamas with a bottle of wine.

33) Only on weekends though, because I had one measly drink on Sunday night and my Monday morning yoga practice felt like I had turned into the Tin Man.

34) Speaking of which, I’ve never watched The Wizard of Oz the whole way through because it freaked me out as a child and it freaks me out now. Tornadoes, flying monkeys, general creepiness.

35) I actually said to my husband, when we were spring cleaning and getting rid of old toys, that “maybe we should keep that for our grandchildren”.

36) I don’t actually want grandchildren until my kids are 30 or so.

37) I point out pretty girls to my husband, who tells me that it is not normal to tell your husband “Look at that girl! She’s hot!”

38) I have friends who really get me, and every day I am awash in appreciation for them. You know who you are, you ladies who make me laugh and smile and think about things, you who I see daily and you who I only see a few times a year but it’s as if no time has passed, you who read my blog and you who try my recipes. I love you all! xoxo

39) Every day, I can’t believe how lucky I am. My family, my life, it all feels charmed. I’m filled with gratitude for every year and I’m excited for the years to come.

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Lucky, lucky me!

 

The Wearing of the Green (Eyed Monster)

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This weekend my husband was watching “The Wolverine”. Remember the lengths I went to in order to obtain that video? It turns out I was actually uninterested in watching it, and so I puttered around the kitchen, making cookies and banana bread while my husband – who must be the world’s most confident man – would call me in to the living room occasionally to watch a scene or two. The scenes that he was bringing my attention to were solely gratuitous shirtless fight sequences. “Nicole! You’ve got to come see this!” he would say and then we would both watch in awe. How much did that man train in preparation for that movie? By all accounts the movie was kind of terrible, but the parts I saw were just fine.

Hugh2

 

It’s a little bit funny that I should objectify the male body so much when I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the objectification of the female body. Remember that “What’s Your Excuse” mom – Maria Kang, who a little while ago posted a photo of her fit and toned body with her three young kids? Shock! Outrage! Shaming! And yet, I fail to see the issue. She’s a woman who has launched a fitness program and website for all those moms out there who are mired down in the world of early motherhood, who want to increase their level of fitness. Great, right? But no, she has been much taken to task for fat-shaming and bullying.

Very, very gently I say to you: if this bothers you, look away. Maybe I’m naive, but I do not see how a woman launching a fitness program is doing it specifically to make womankind in general feel bad about themselves. My belief is that this woman is capitalizing on what every single fitness program talks about, and that is to Just Do It, in the words of the Nike people. No fitness program is based on “just exercise when you feel like it, maybe, or don’t, whatever.” They all say, NO MORE EXCUSES, schedule it in, find the time, do it.

So what’s the difference between what every mainstream fitness program says, and what Maria Kang is saying? She’s a young, attractive mother with a smoking hot body who has obtained that figure through hard work and exercise, and flaunts it. And why shouldn’t she? What’s wrong with it? If someone else’s figure is deeply offensive to you, then I suggest not looking at the photos, reading the stories, or subscribing to her website. But why should it offend you at all?

I have mixed feelings about the expression “Things will only hurt you if you let them” because sometimes people are really assholes and do say things specifically targeted to hurt people’s feelings. Example: if you get new carpeting put in your house and show me with pride and happiness, and I say “Carpeting is for stupid people who like allergens” then I am being an asshole. But if someone posts a flattering photo of themselves, saying that they have done away with excuses and have obtained a targeted level of fitness, and that you can too, well, I fail to see how that shames anyone. This is one of those cases where if I have an issue with it, then it’s my issue to deal with.

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I’m quite proud of this photo, actually.

Sometimes when a woman celebrates a breastfeeding milestone, or talks about her pride in giving her baby the very best start in life due to breastfeeding, I get a pang. I think of my own two children who I weaned very early and it makes me sad; but is it the fault of the breastfeeding mother? Is she talking about breastfeeding specifically to make me feel bad and ashamed of my own perceived failure? Of course not. It’s my issue and mine alone. It’s not her, it’s me.

And so I find it disheartening when I hear all this bashing about women and their bodies: from “Scarlett Johansson looking “fat” in a bikini” to “Real Women Have Curves” memes, from “Marilyn Monroe was a size 16” to “Denise Richards is too skinny”. There are the things we say to each other and about each other: “I hate you, you’re so skinny,” or “She probably has an eating disorder,” or “I hate to tell you this but you’ve gained so much weight that I’m worried about you!” We fixate on these things and so someone who purports to inspire young mothers to achieve new levels of fitness is slammed as a bully or a fat-shamer. We disparage fat people and we disparage skinny people and everyone’s body is up for criticism.

Lately there’s been a meme on Facebook, a “love your selfie” game where you post a photo of yourself without makeup and with natural hair. I love it because it’s celebrating what we are, our natural selves, even though this is what I look like au naturel:

Before

Even with that photo, I do love myself. There are things I do not like about my appearance, certainly. There are things I would change if I could, but on the most part I’m happy with my physical self. I wake up every morning at 4:30 and practice yoga for ninety minutes, I watch what I eat, I try to get enough vitamins, rest, and balance in my life. I can do a lot of things: I can play Fur Elise on the piano from memory, I can bake awesome cookies and read story books with all different voices. I can do calculus and analyze statistics and throw on a great Southern accent from that time I was Amanda Wingfield in my high school production of The Glass Menagerie. I can do this:

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But there are many, many things I cannot do. There are lots of things that YOU do that I admire, that I do not do myself: run marathons, press up into handstands, have the patience to spend your days working with children, take courses while juggling everything else, keep it together while your husband travels, travel alone to exotic locations, tote little people around all day. I cannot decorate cakes, swim laps, knit, sew on a button, or drive to new locations without much assistance and many tears. I have never turned a cartwheel in my life. But the fact that I do not or cannot do these things does not mean that I hate you for saying that you can do them. I do not feel that your ability to do these things shames me in any way. I’m proud of you for being able to do them. When my children were babies I was more like a chewed up piece of old string than Maria Kang, but that does not mean that Maria Kang has shamed me.

What I want us to do is look at ourselves, really look, and realize how beautiful we are. We are so beautiful, so interesting, so smart. We don’t need to feel inferior because of someone else’s success, because of someone else’s figure, vacation, job, or children. WE are successful, WE are beautiful, whatever the shape of our bodies and our days. What I want you to do for yourself is to really look at your life, really look at it, and see what amazing things you’ve done: the everyday things and the extraordinary things. I want you to see yourself for the amazing and beautiful person you are. Because I know you are. We all are.

Welcome to Crazytown, Population: Me.

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I know I seem all easy going and flexible, but the reality is I am a very rigid person. Each week I write in my day-timer – the old-fashioned PAPER kind, can you imagine? – the tasks that I need to do that week. Some of the tasks are everyday housekeeping ones: what I’m making for dinner each day and what I’m baking that week and on which day, along with chores like cleaning the bathroom, dusting, changing the sheets. I write down which days I’m doing what and I stick with it. If, for some strange reason, I wash the floor on Monday when I had written down Tuesday, I cross off “floors” on Tuesday and re-write it into Monday, even after the fact. Other things I write down are recipes that I’m writing and photographing, blog post ideas, and, of course, regularly scheduled things like the boys’ karate classes or hair appointments.

When I have a week like this one, where my to-do list is very long and filled with things that must – MUST – be done by a certain time, well, I rigidly schedule my days so I can accommodate those things. I have a basic timeline in my mind and I stick to that timeline like it’s the answer to all the world’s problems. When I was in university, I would schedule my study times in a very exact way: microeconomics from 10:15-11:45, research my labour paper from 11:50-12:55, break for 20 minutes, then prepare for my econometrics exam from 1:15-3:00. Once I had written these things down in my day-timer, I would not deviate from them, and sometimes I think it’s a miracle I got married.

I’m sure my husband finds this part of my personality adorable, like when Sally says “I’m too structured, I’m completely closed off.” and Harry responds “But in a good way!” I am sure it’s JUST like in the movies.

The biggest problem with being this anal-retentive person that I am is that when something unexpected pops up in my schedule, I completely fall apart. For example, yesterday my husband and I realized that the boys need social insurance numbers, and what with one thing and another, they need them as soon as possible. My husband asked if I could take care of it this morning and although I had a number of things on my plate, I crossed things off and rewrote them in my day-timer, with as much flexibility and happy-go-luckiness as I could manage. After all, how long could something like that take? The government office is fairly close to our house; surely I could get there and back quickly.

HAHAHAHAHA THE GOVERNMENT OFFICE QUICKLY HAHAHAHAHAHA

I got into the office at 9:10 and there was a gigantic lineup. I was disheartened at first but then it moved quite quickly when someone thought to mention that the information meeting for EI recipients was in a different room. It took only a few minutes for me to get to the front of the line after that, and the man at the desk told me that there would be a 15-20 minute wait. I hadn’t thought to bring a book with me, because I am apparently stupid and naive, and so I dismissed his advice to “take a seat and wait to be called” and instead stood near a wall, with my coat and scarf on, because what’s 15-20 minutes? Nothing, really.

Time dragged on and soon it was 10:00 and I started to get suspicious when I overheard that same man at the front desk tell someone that it would be a ninety minute wait. I put on my half-smile so as not to frighten said man with my bitchy resting face, and asked in the sweetest voice possible, with my eyes wide and fluttery, if he knew how much longer it would be, since he had said it was going to be only 15-20 minutes. You get more with honey, as we all know, and so I kept the frustration out of my voice. “Oh yes,” he said, “Well, it looks like we’re short staffed. So, it will be a while. I’m not sure how long.” OH.

I took a seat and tried not to think of my to-do list with impending doom. Om shanti. I tried to be rational and think that it would be better to just wait; I’d spent so much time already it would be silly not to wait. After all, in the big picture, what does it matter that I spent my morning in the government office, surrounded by the scent of body odour, dirty hair, and cigarette smoke? I didn’t have a book, true, but I did have a phone with me. There are many worse tragedies than being stuck in a waiting room with my fancy phone; I was not in the office because of employment issues or anything like that, three days from now would it really matter that the lion’s share of my morning would be spent immobile and reading blogs on my iPhone? I mean, really. And the princess couldn’t sleep on the mattress because of a pea. CRY ME A RIVER.

I was finally successful in obtaining the numbers, and left the office at 10:50. That’s when I thought if I was fast, and efficient, I could pull off a quick Costco trip before picking up the boys from lunch. There were a couple of things that I needed that I cannot get elsewhere and if I stuck to my list, I could do it.

I strode through Costco with a sense of purpose and a giant cart and…they were out of what I needed. That was discouraging, but it wasn’t a total bust: I managed to get the other, less essential things on my list, along with a whole pile of delicious plump berries. I managed to get home, unload the groceries, and get to the school on time to pick up the boys. I was feeling pretty faded but buoyed myself up by making myself a berry salad in this happy little fellow:

happy

Cuteness! A friend gave that to me, filled with flowers, when I was having a hard time and I can’t look at it without smiling. There’s nothing more cheering than berries in a giant smiley mug, not to mention the thought that went behind it! That smiley mug reminds me to pay it forward, even when I’m having a weirdly anxious morning, sniffing the perfume in my own scarf to drown out the smell of smoke and BO. Really, life is beautiful.

This Post Is Steeped

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Today I received an email from an insurance broker about a mix-up, and she very earnestly apologized for the “incontinence”, which has been making me smile all day. I’m sure her coworkers would be more in need of an apology than me, given the puddles and all.

I’ve been re-reading Alias Grace, and in the language of the 1850s, she describes sweeping under a bed and finding a ton of slut’s wool, which is apparently what they used to call dust bunnies, sluts back then being lazy housekeepers and not the whores we think of today. In my own bid to be a fabulous housewife, I moved the couch for the first time in many weeks to sweep behind it and I myself found enough slut’s wool to create my own dusty sheep, so I feel a kinship with all those nineteenth-century sluts.

When Jake started Grade One full time, I had several people ask me what will I do with all my TIME, intimating that I should consider going “back to work”. Did you know I used to have a career? One where I wore pantyhose and high heels and worked on a trade floor for twelve hours a day on average, and I used to cry in the bathroom sometimes, and once a guy flipped out so much that he banged his phone on his desk until it broke and he had to take an anger management course? Good times. Anyway, I never really considered going back to work in that capacity after I left, and it’s good that I didn’t, because then I wouldn’t be available for my current career of “school volunteer”, not to mention my role of slutty housewife.

Yesterday I was a judge at the school science fair, and let me tell you, it was the most fun I’ve ever had in a volunteer capacity. I highly recommend it. I was easily the most excited judge around, walking with my clipboard and asking VERY SERIOUS scientific questions. I loved all the students with their science-y joy and ideas. Changing the world, one science project at a time. One kid was so into his topic of waves and resonance, and so engaged and excited, that I mentioned he might want to consider taking more science once he was in junior high and high school, which subsequently made him even more engaged and excited, that I thought he might spin off the planet right then and there.

Sadly, there was not one baking soda volcano among the bunch. Not one! However, someone had built a Lego robot, and the boys assured me that it was one of the most popular tables, when their classes visited, along with a research project about venom and its uses. Venom! There’s nothing like a potentially deadly substance to get a bunch of third-and-fourth grade boys interested in scientific applications.

And hey, one week until Valentine’s Day! Apparently I will be making approximately one million heart-shaped cookies for the boys’ classes next week, in lieu of cards which they say are “lame” and “stupid”. Well, cookies are the opposite of lame and stupid! Remember that old Tim Hortons’ commercial in which the teenage son bought his mom a tea and said it was steeped, after which she thought “steeped” was the new word to say for something that was cool and used it in all sorts of situations? That’s totally me. I am that mother. Also, cookies in lieu of cards for Valentine’s Day is steeped. STEEPED I SAY.

Someone was asking the other day what men like to receive for Valentine’s Day and I blinked a couple of times. Blink. Blink. I can really only think of two things, and they are pretty obvious: sex and blowjobs. It’s perfect, you don’t need to wrap anything, you don’t need to buy anything, you don’t even need to leave the comfort of your own home. Alternately, you could make a batch of my aphrodisiac blondies. Blondes have more fun, my sweet young blonde yoga friend is always telling me, and I…don’t know if that’s true or not. But these blondies are very fun. Personally I’m hoping for a teddy bear wearing a bee costume emblazoned with “Bee Mine” but I’m not sure if I’ll get that or not. I might have to be satisfied with smooches and general romantic feelings. And maybe a bottle of wine.

December Advent Acts of Kindness, Crafting With Cat Hair

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Yesterday was such a wonderful, beautiful day. I looked out the window at around 4:50 pm and the most beautiful sunset was happening; the sky was deep orange and pink and the snowy ground was glowing pink as well. I called the boys to come and look at it. I tried to take a picture but it just didn’t do it justice. We watched for a while, as the colours deepened and became almost neon, then darkened to a purplish black. Twenty minutes later it was all over and the sky was dark. I suddenly understood why people post inspirational sayings, and I was inspired to do the same:

Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Well said, Ferris Bueller, well said.

One of my friends was ill yesterday, and in trying to cheer her up I searched modcloth.com for links to cat sweaters, because when your head is in the toilet and/ or on the bathroom floor tile, the most cheering thing in the world is a link to a sweater that is noted for it’s “cat-itude”.

http://www.modcloth.com/shop/pullovers-sweaters/positive-cat-itude-sweater
photo from modcloth.com

But what I found even more cheering? THIS BOOK:

 

http://www.modcloth.com/shop/books/crafting-with-cat-hair
photo from modcloth.com

Dear readers, a book about crafting with cat hair. CRAFTING WITH CAT HAIR. Why sweep up all that cat hair off the floor when you can make actual miniature kitties with it? Why indeed? I feel like a) this book would make a really great gift for certain people in our lives, and b) crafts made out of cat hair would be the ultimate gift for certain people in our lives. This is a win-win situation we have here. Here’s a little description from the book:

You’ll forget about fussing over the cat hair that’s clinging to your clothing or couch when you explore this ‘purr’-fectly precious guide to crafting with fur! ….While your favorite feline naps in a beam of sun in your studio, you can use its freshly brushed fluff, a few simple tools, and basic DIY skills to fashion a set of felted finger puppets, kitten-topped keepsake boxes, delightfully detailed badges, cute pincushions, or tote bags that boast darling appliques. 

TOTE BAGS. I am horrified, yet fascinated, by this book. This is way better than the Snuggie Sutra. Delightfully detailed badges! I wonder if you could make this hat out of cat hair:

http://www.modcloth.com/shop/hats/cat-nap-hat-in-black
photo from modcloth.com

Very meta. I also wonder if actual grown women a) purchase and b) wear this hat. Now of course, we all know I’m not a cat person, and so it should be no surprise that I think this is kind of funny:

http://www.modcloth.com/shop/graphic-tees/i-swear-to-dog-t-shirt
photo from modcloth.com

And if I could knit without fears of a nervous breakdown, hysteria, or becoming fatally tangled in a web of yarn, I would buy this book AND knit my own litter of puppies:

http://www.modcloth.com/shop/books/knit-your-own-dog-the-second-litter
photo from modcloth.com

So please don’t think I’m getting uppity or waging some sort of dog person/ cat person war, which is probably as egregious as a mommy war. Who wants to talk about dogs versus cats versus SAHM versus WAHM versus breastfeeding versus bottle feeding versus co-sleeping versus I DON’T KNOW WHAT ELSE. Certainly not me.

We’re going to put up the tree and decorations this weekend, which is always fun and exciting. I was thinking about Advent calendars, thanks to my friend Lynn, who last year inspired me to make a “holiday activity” Advent calendar. Here’s the thing, though: I am not gifted at coming up with holiday activity ideas. Generally, once the cookies and gingerbread house are made, and the decorations up, my ideas consist of a) watching Christmas specials on TV OR reading Christmas books, and b) going sledding. I’m not up to the pressure of having 24 different activities to put in the calendar. Today, though, I thought of a different idea, and I like it: kindness acts. I’m going to challenge the family to come up with a different kind idea every day in December, and write it down on a piece of paper to put in the Advent calendar. It doesn’t have to be a big thing; in fact, I think giving someone a compliment or letting someone go ahead of you in line might be just as kind and heart warming as buying someone’s coffee at Starbucks or shovelling our neighbour’s walk, or taking in donations to the food bank. I think this would nicely reinforce the festive idea of giving rather than receiving, don’t you think?

Nicolemania and Beatlemania

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This is where I spent the vast majority of my week:

Every year – twice a year – leading up to the book fair I feel deflated and exhausted and think this is IT. This is the LAST TIME I’m running the book fair. Then, after running the book fair, raising thousands of dollars for the school library, and feeling universal adulation and love from the student body, who call after me while I’m walking through the playground, like I’m Jennifer Lawrence and the students are the paparazzi, “Hey, it’s the book fair lady! Hiiiiii book fair lady! Hiiiii! I love my book about zombies/ Diary of a Wimpy Kid/ Pete the Cat/ Lego Friends.”, I feel like I can keep on keeping on. My friend’s son, who is in fifth grade, thanked me in a very formal and polite way for all my “time and efforts” to “make this book fair possible.”

So that’s nice. I feel good about that; much better than how I felt when I read over my emails last night. Remember the kazoos? The kazoo playing at the school’s 50th anniversary assembly? The kazoos are going to be played as part of a performance by my children of the song YELLOW SUBMARINE. I feel a great deal of despair about this for a number of reasons, one of which is I haaaaaaate that song with a passion. Also, kazoos. 

All this 50th anniversary festivity is – somehow? – connected with the advent of Beatlemania, which Mark’s teacher seems to be embracing with passion. He was assigned to write down five Beatles’ facts and five Beatles’ songs. I was trying to help him with these facts, keeping things empirical rather than subjective, but my husband was home, and the result was somewhat disastrous.

Me: They were known as the Mop Tops! Isn’t that funny? Their hair was considered to be crazy back then!

Mr: Paul sucks.

Me: That’s not appropriate.

Mr: Paul DOES suck. He still writes songs like he did fifty years ago. They suck.

Me: I liked him in Wings.

Mark: What’s Wings?

Me: Another band. Let’s keep going. The band broke up in 1970.

Mark: Why did they break up?

Mr: Because of a chick! She was nuts though.

Me: SERIOUSLY. Let’s keep on topic.

Mark: Who was the chick? Was she pretty?

Me: The WOMAN was Yoko Ono. She was John’s girlfriend. I guess she didn’t really like the other Beatles.

Mark: Some girls do NOT like their crushes to hang out with their friends.

Mr: Exactly.

Mark: *writing* They also went to India a lot.

Mr: They went to India and did a lot of drugs and went crazy.

Mark: I don’t think I should write that. *writes They went to India and got groovy.*

Me: *sigh* How about some songs? I like Golden Slumbers.

Mark: I’ll tell you one thing, I HATE Yellow Submarine.

Me and Mr: Good boy.

http://www.thecomicstrips.com/store/add.php?iid=100655
Image from thecomicstrips.com

  
My friend sent me this comic strip and YES. Although, we all know how I feel about Tom Petty. Or do you? My darling friend Stephanie tagged me on Facebook to play that game where you tell random things about yourself. She gave me the number 8, so I have eight things to tell you about! It seemed too long for a status update, and so I have crafted it seamlessly into a blog post. Also it’s Friday, I’ve been at the book fair all week, and although I haven’t cracked open the wine yet – it’s only 11:30 in the morning – I feel like I happily COULD. It’s been that kind of week. Without further ado, here is my list.

Eight Random Things About Nicole

1) I really, really can’t stand Tom Petty’s music. Do you see what I did there? I didn’t say “I hate Tom Petty” because my dad always said “You don’t HATE anybody” to which I would respond “How about Hitler, Dad? Can’t I hate Hitler? Dad? Hitler? I hate him! So I CAN hate somebody.” Yes, I was a delight of a child. Anyway, I don’t like to be super negative about a person – a celebrity is still a person, I say from my glowing book-fair-lady-celebrity – and so I will say I DO NOT ENJOY HIS MUSIC. For all I know, Tom Petty is the world’s nicest guy.

2) I do enjoy a wide variety of music. Eclectic, if you will. I love motown and fat caped glittery Elvis, I love disco and 1970’s ballads, I love hippie music from the 70s, I love catchy 80s tunes and “alternative” 80s music, which makes me nostalgic for my youth, I love old-skool rap from the 90s and hip-hop and reggae (I don’t like reggae. I love it.) I have an incredible memory for lyrics which makes me think that I could probably do a lot more with my life, if the space in my brain which knows the words to every song ever recorded was devoted to something, you know, useful.

3) I wear the colour black all the time. I almost always have something black on. This habit dates back to my youth, which I probably shouldn’t admit to.

4) Sometimes – not often, thankfully – I find myself having conversations that go like the SNL carpool sketch with Alec Baldwin and Kristin Wiig, which is my favourite sketch ever, but less fun in real life.

5) I always, without exception, choke up when singing the following songs: Landslide, Foolish Games, and How Great Thou Art.

6) I often put on my jammies by 7:00 pm on weekdays. This means that during the week my husband frequently sees me in one of two outfits: a) sweaty yoga clothes first thing in the morning, and b) plaid jammies with a picture of Snoopy on them. This is marriage, kids. As my young friend Emily says when she sees a particularly unflattering outfit, “Those are married lady pants.” I’M SURE HE FINDS ME EXTREMELY SEXY IN MY MARRIED LADY PANTS THAT HAVE SNOOPY ON THEM, EMILY.

7) Despite this, with the exception of 5 am yoga, I never leave the house without makeup on and my hair done. NEVER. I walk the dog with lipstick on, I fancy myself up to go to the Co-Op. I’m totally going to be one of those scary old ladies with bright orange hair, lipstick bleeding into my lip lines, clouds of Chanel No. 5, and super fancy matching earrings/ necklace/ bracelet sets, who get all gussied up to go down to the residents’ lounge to play canasta. Note: need to learn to play canasta sometime in the next forty years.

8) When I was in Grade 11, I was Amanda Wingfield in the school production of  The Glass Menagerie. I rocked out a Southern accent like nobody’s business. I feel that I was born in the wrong place. I think I would have made an excellent Southern lady. I secretly LOVE when people refer to me as “Ma’am”.

So now it’s your turn! Instead of tagging people on Facebook, I’m going to tag bloggers to tell random numbers of things about themselves. Who wants to start? I’ll give you…six!